Coffee
by sagewolf
Summary: Ivan on a caffiene high. ...Yeah, that's the summary...didn't think it needed more...


Oky, peoples, I am trying my hand at straight-up, no-nonsense humour. By which I mean, of course, zig-zagged everywhere, all-nonsense humour. I dunno how good I am at it, but I hope you like it!

Ivan: From the summary, I don't think I will.

That's not the point. If all the characters liked it all the way through, it would be a bad story, I think.

Ivan: But I don't like it _at all. _I think you're just a sadist.

Fine be that way. Not Listening. Elliott! Disclaimer!

Elliott: This loony does not own Golden Sun or Ivan. Lucky them.

Oh and before you ask (as you probably will) 'craic' is pronounced 'crack' and is Irish for news or, in this context, fun. "Ah, sure, I'll go for the craic." For the hell of it, you might say. But craic is easier to say than 'for the hell of it' and lets people delude themselves into thinking they actually _speak_ Irish. Which they usually don't. And I'm rambling. On with the story!

Ivan: Why do I know Irish?

...Dunno. Stop making these notes longer.

* * *

Isaac stumbled downstairs, aided in no small part by Ivan. In fact, he didn't stumble so much as he was dragged by the smaller, younger, more lightly built boy. Isaac hadn't woken up yet.

Ivan did _not _appreciate it. If Isaac was going to insist on leaving at dawn to catch up to Felix, he could at least get up on time, like the rest of them, instead of having to be—literally!—dragged out of bed every morning. Isaac was just a zombie until he had his morning coffee. He deposited Isaac at the table he'd been given for breakfast, and ordered said coffee, as well as a hot cocoa for himself, tea for Mia. Mia did not like coffee, nor did she need it. And _he _was certainly not having any coffee. Not after that incident in Tolbi. He _still_ wasn't allowed in that inn.

"Morning, Mia," he greeted her. "Is Garet coming down?" Mia shook her head.

"He's upstairs puking his guts out. Ate the mushrooms again." Ivan sighed and rubbed his temples. Great. Was that idiot ever going to listen? Couldn't they just have one nice, peaceful, uneventful, _relaxed_ morning? Well, first things first, he thought, as their drinks arrived. He forced most of Isaac's drink past his lips, still preoccupied, and took a large swallow of his own before he registered the smell or taste. He closed his eyes and swore softly.

Coffee. Damn! He hadn't checked. Why the helt hadn't he checked? Well, maybe…it would be alright this time. He'd been younger then, well, only two years, but maybe he could take it now. _Without _going crazy.

"Ivan?" Mia asked. She sounded concerned. "Are you feeling alright?"

That probably wasn't a good sign. "Yes…and no…" he replied, before just ceasing to talk. Hopefully, this would pass… before it got any worse…

"You're sure?" she asked. He didn't respond. He was _not_ sure. If he was alright, he would apologise in a minute, and if he wasn't…well…she was smart. She could figure it out for herself.

He began to drum on the table with his fingertips. Bad sign. At least he was still thinking properly. Come to think of it, he wasn't fully dressed yet. Maybe today he could borrow someone else's clothes for a change, (although how that followed on from him drumming his fingertips he didn't really know but hell who cared) yeah, maybe Isaac's he'd always liked blue, not Garet's they were way too big and dirty too heck he wouldn't mind wearing Mia's for the craic—

No. Deep breaths. He had his own clothes. That was another bad sign…This could turn out to be a problem…

It hit.

He opened his eyes and grinned scarily.

Problem? What problem?

* * *

Mia was definitely beginning to worry about Ivan. He was grinning like a shark on Prozac. "Ivan?" she asked tentatively. The boy turned to face her quickly enough to give himself whiplash. There was a scary gleam in his eyes.

"Yes?" He sounded normal enough. But was it normal for him to tap his foot that quickly?

"Do you feel alright?"

"Yes." This was definitely not normal.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Oh, this had better not be another damn prank.

"Will you say something other than 'yes'?"

"Yes." He was pissing her off now.

"Ivan, don't play games with me, at least wait until Isaac and Garet are up and function—Ivan what the _hell are you __**doing**__?!" _Even though she'd asked, it was pretty clear what he was doing.

He was hanging off the light from his ankles. Mia stared in disbelief. This was not like him at all. Seeing her expression, he spread his arms and shouted.

"_Yes!_" Mia stared another moment, and concluded that her friend needed help. Urgently. Something had taken over his mind. That had to be it.

She spoke in a soft, reassuring voice, the kind used to speak to babies.

"Ivan, come down off the light, okay? I—"

"Ivan come down off the light okay I."

"…don't think you're feeling well, so if—"

"Don't think you're feeling well so if."

"…we take you to a healer, we can get—"

"We take you to a healer we can get."

"…you fixed up and—"

"You fixed up and."

"_**AGGH! STOP DOING THAT!" **_she yelled, losing her temper.

"Aggh stop doing that."

"IVAN!" She lunged for the boy's arms in a fit of rage. Ivan leaned forward, caught her mid-leap, and used her own momentum to propel both of them across the room. Straight into a table.

Owww… that hurt… damn that boy. He was on top of her now, looking around the room, presumably for some way to cause more damage. He spotted the door to the kitchen and grinned again. Mia groaned as he ran off, making a grab for him and missing. What had happened to him?

Startled yells came from inside the kitchen.

"Hey, you can't be in here—"

"Listen, kid, staff only—"

Mia opened the doors.

Chaos.

Ivan was standing on one of the stoves, on either side of the burners. He had a pot in one hand and a live chicken—where he got it from the gods knew—in the other. In just those few seconds he'd managed to incapacitate both cooks. The entire kitchen looked as if a tornado had swept through it. Come to think of it, that was quite possible.

"Ivan," she called. The boy looked up and grinned in that odd, scary way. "Ivan, you are going to hurt yourself (and others, she thought) if you keep this up. Come down." He shrugged, lifted one leg until it was perpendicular to his body, and dropped off the stove.

Burning the chicken. It let out an indignant squawk—to the general tune of Oh my Chicken-God, my goddamn tail is ON FIRE!—and began hop-flapping around the room, trailing the smell of drumsticks and a thin line of smoke. Mia ran forward to see if Ivan was alright and slipped on chicken dirt. Ivan, completely fine, laughed his hyper head off, deposited the pot upside-down on it and raced outside, still cackling madly.

Mia got up, boiling with anger. Who the hell did he think he was? Johnny-fricking-Appleseed? She stormed after him, and paused. While she was thinking, the chicken decided to land on her head and deposit a similar gift to the one she'd slipped on in her hair.

Come to think of it, who the hell was Johnny Appleseed? And what did he have to do with a pot?

Mia went outside, her hair and rear still covered in chicken dirt, following the rather unmistakable trail of screaming and bewildered people left behind by Ivan. Luff was on her shoulder. She had realised that having a crazy 15-year-old boy on the loose was one thing; having a crazy 15-year-old Adept on the loose was another entirely. As could be seen from his trail. He'd managed to drag the comatose Isaac off too. She only hoped Isaac was alright. All she had to do was get Luff to seal Ivan's Psynergy. Then things would be easier.

Ice Missile easier.

* * *

Isaac was slowly beginning to wake up. He was at that stage of consciousness where he could move around without aid, but he wasn't yet really able to make his own decisions. He knew this, so he'd followed Ivan so he couldn't be taken advantage of in his delicate state. His brain wasn't able to process much at this point in the day, but Ivan was smart enough for both of them. He knew _that,_ at least. Ivan had taken him to a small alley, where they wouldn't be seen by anyone while he was still in his pyjamas.

Ivan came back from wherever he'd been, a strange grin on his face and a container of liquid in his hand. From the other hand dangled a bag. For some reason, he was wearing a pot on his head. At least, Isaac thought it was an odd grin. He couldn't be listening to himself, though. He wasn't thinking properly. Ivan brandished the bottle.

"This will be _fun,"_ he told Isaac. Isaac nodded happily. If Ivan said so, it had to be true. He sat down and docilely let Ivan rub the contents of the bottle through his hair. He didn't object to the contents of the bag, either. As Ivan said, he _was_ still in his pyjamas, wasn't he? He didn't want to make a fool of himself, after all.

* * *

Mia looked around. The signs of Ivan's presence had been steadily dwindling. Had he calmed down or returned to normal? She had some choice words for him in any case.

Ah, was that…no, Isaac didn't have green…oh Mercury. So that was what had been keeping that little creature busy. Poor Isaac.

She went over to Isaac and grabbed him by the arm, wondering where Ivan had disappeared to, but knowing that if she could get Isaac to help her, it would be easier to catch Ivan. She stopped by a vendor and asked for coffee. He gave it to her with a puzzled look and she poured it down Isaac's throat.

Five minutes later, Isaac was awake and functioning. Oh happy day. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and began to ask her what he was doing outside. Then he saw his arm.

The tirade that began when he saw he was wearing a dress (a pink, frilly, lacy one) included an interesting combination of untypables, an overuse of commas and the word 'and', a distinct lack of cohesion, and various threats which all went something like 'I am going to _**kill**_ that little freak for doing this to me!' (Substitute the word kill for maim, gut, smear make-up on, stick my sword up his (guess), castrate, and repeat every variant about 5 times. Intersperse with 'I can't believe this!' 'I am in a (untypable) _**dress**_!' and sprinkle with said untypables and you have a good idea of Isaac's rant.) Eventually, finished, Isaac went off to find Ivan, having decided that revenge was more important than changing his clothes. Mia hurried after him, making sure Luff was ready.

She didn't tell Isaac about his hair. Not that neon-green wasn't a nice colour, but…

There she went again. What was neon? A strange type of grass? She'd never seen grass that colour before…She'd never seen _anything _that colour before, actually… Maybe she was crazy too.

* * *

They found him in the harbour. Two men, sailors by the look of them, were face-down in the sand. One was muttering about crazy little demons. Ivan was standing in their boat, little more than a canoe, miraculously without capsizing it. He was struggling with the ropes that held it to the pier. The pot kept slipping over his eyes, obscuring his vision. Mia gave Isaac a sign to go slowly, sneaking up on him. Isaac nodded. Mia gave Luff another sign and the Djinni nodded; when they had a hold of Ivan, he would seal the boy's Psynergy. They crept up on him as quietly as they could, and when he was occupied with a particularly difficult knot, leapt on him.

He kicked and yelled and squirmed. Isaac had the top half of him; Mia was the one being kicked. It took all of their strength to hold him long enough for Luff to do his job. Once they'd felt the pulse of Jupiter Psynergy go off, they relaxed slightly, thinking he would stop struggling.

Wrong. Two seconds later, Ivan had disappeared again, leaving an indignant Luff squeaking about how his Psynergy had been sealed, Isaac holding Ivan's shirt in both hands, and Mia clinging on to his trousers.

* * *

The only good thing about that escapade, Isaac said, was that he had some trousers to wear. They were slightly too short, but his boots hid that. (He'd gone back to get them after Mia got sick of healing his feet. Alhafran streets were not nice to walk on. Lots of broken glass. If you had to work for that mayor, you'd drink too.) The shirt fit him too, somehow. He wondered why Ivan didn't wear clothes that fit him.

"There he goes!" Mia yelled, catching a glimpse of the pot. (He'd managed to keep _that_ on, at least.) She ran after him. Isaac tried to follow. Unfortunately, he was grabbed from behind.

"_There _you are, you little brat!" Isaac looked up into the eyes of a…well, it looked like a…a chef. He was covered in flour, egg and who knew what else and seemed to have chicken poop on his shoulder.

"Me?" Isaac asked. "What did I do?" (He knew nothing of Ivan's trip through the kitchen.) Than it occurred to him. He looked down at himself.

Great. Just great. A caffeine-mad Adept was running around town doing god-knew-what, and Isaac was wearing his _clothes. _They had the same hair colour, too. The chef drew back his arm.

"No! No-wait-I-can-explain!"

Useless.

* * *

Mia looked around. Where the hell was Isaac? They had Ivan running around like a lunatic and Isaac had gone and disappeared. This was just what she needed. She motioned to Squall.

"I hate to do this," she told the Djinni, (They were all eager to get their human back to normal) "but it may be the only way to stop him. Wait until he's on his own, and knock him out. Got it?" Squall nodded as best he could with no neck. It involved bouncing up and down and nodding his entire body. Mia sighed. Whichever intern at Camelot had designed Djinn hadn't given much thought to practicalities.

…Where the hell was Camelot (and why did it have a capital 'C') and what was an intern? She had to stop doing that. She shook her head to clear it and followed the Pot. He was yelling something in the town square.

"—and what's more, he'll take all your money and use it to feed peacocks! The only way to be free from his tyranny is to break free and overthrow him! Appoint this majestic being—" he indicated a mouse sitting on his shoulder—"to lead you. Do not be fooled by its appearance, it is a genius, an advanced life form from a world far more advanced than this! It will lead you to prosperity, to peace, to—"

Oh, perfect. He was instigating rebellion and campaigning for a rodent at the same time. Wearing nothing but his shoes, his underwear and that blasted pot. She gave Squall the signal. More nodding. God, he looked like a spaz.

Three… They got into position.

Two… Mia glanced over at Squall and gripped her staff.

One… Squall readied himself, wagging his stubby tail.

_**Zap!**_

_**Keerack!!**_

_**Clang!**_

_**Thud!**_

Squall flew over to his human as Mia looked Ivan over carefully. He didn't seem hurt. He had a very high resistance to Psynergy anyway. He'd have a hell of a bump, and his pride would take a knock when he heard about this, but he seemed unhurt otherwise.

Isaac staggered up, sporting a brand new black eye. Maybe he shouldn't have been wearing Ivan's clothes.

"Is he back to normal?"

"He's knocked out, at least." Isaac nodded and lifted the comatose Jupiter Adept onto his shoulder. The mouse had run off somewhere. He took his friend back to the inn. Ivan woke up, dressed himself, and left town for the ship using the Cloak Ball and Haze to avoid being seen. Just in case, he also wore a cloak, a hood, a mask, a bag on his head, stilts, and a placard saying "My Name Is Not Ivan." Mia healed Garet's stomach (he had no idea what had just happened) and they all left town, never to return. At least while Ivan was with them.

* * *

"That plan didn't work, did it?" the mouse asked its friend.

"No. It did not. I should have known this place didn't hold elections."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Sleep, Pinky. We will rest…and plan. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Why? What are we doing tomorrow?"

"The same thing we do every day, Pinky…

"Try to take over the world!"

(Cue dramatic thunderclap and theme music, then fade to black.)

* * *

Ivan: (vein pulsing) I'm going to _kill_ you someday.

...That's nice. Anyways, that's it. Tell me what you think! I'm working on another, more random humor fic, so whatever you tell me will definitely be taken on board for that. Unless, of course, you say it after I write it. Nevermind.

...Nevermind. That was a great Green Day song. I like Green Day. Minority was better though, and Warning...

Elliott: Please, _**please**_ review so she'll read it and shut up for a minute.


End file.
